


thou wretched boy shall with him hence

by cronchevans



Series: saints and sinners verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Choking, Declarations Of Love, Depression, Domestic Violence, Friends to Lovers, Grief, Homophobia, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Kissing, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, but winifred is a good mama, she loves steve and bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cronchevans/pseuds/cronchevans
Summary: They were lost in each other and it was going so well, like they were always meant to fit together this way. They forgot that the world didn’t think they should.





	thou wretched boy shall with him hence

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this is an extremely graphic fic containing domestic abuse, please don't read if this could trigger you. 
> 
> i apologize in advance for the hurt this is gonna cause. this was really only supposed to be a short little thing, then suddenly i'm 7,000 words in and i'm nowhere close to being done. so this happened.

It was a sunny October afternoon when Steve Rogers laid his mother to rest. She was beside her husband. And she went as gracefully as she could, with the tuberculosis slowly eating away at her, one fever chill and hacking cough after another. Steve tried not to cry. Tough little Stevie Rogers, the boy who never ran away from a fight. He wouldn’t run away from this one either, not even when they lowered his mother into the ground. He stayed after the small crowd dispersed. He stayed after her coffin was covered in dirt. He stayed after Bucky came by, even though he told him not to.

 

“How’re ya holdin’ up, Steve?” Bucky said, crouching down into the cemetery grass beside him.

 

Steve didn’t answer. His knees ached from being pressed to the ground for hours, his fingers were chilled by the October cold. They spasmed against the blades of grass, clenching and unclenching, feeling the soil which covered his sleeping mother. He stared unblinkingly at the mound in front of him, absolutely numb.

 

Bucky sighed to the left of him before wrapping his arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders, pulling him over gently, slowly, giving Steve enough time to pull away if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. Steve collapsed into him, shaking with the weight of holding back his tears. Bucky sighed above him again as he rubbed small circles along Steve’s knobby spine.

 

“C’mon, pal,” he said quietly, trying to soothe Steve as best as he could. “S’alright, ain’t no shame in cryin’. It’s just you ‘n me, won’t let no one hurt ya.”

 

Steve just shook his head against Bucky’s chest, trembling. Bucky gathered Steve’s hands, which were clutching the fabric of his Sunday best, into his own, wincing at the cold.

 

“C’mon,” Bucky coaxed again, this time moving to stand. “Let’s get you outta the cold, you’ll catch a chill out here.”

 

Steve’s knees buckled beneath him as Bucky tried to heft him up. His hands, which always seemed too big for his small body, gripped back onto Bucky’s arms. He couldn’t find his footing and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His ma was gone, what else did he have left? 

 

“You still got me, pal,” Bucky whispered, as if he could read Steve’s self deprecating thoughts.

 

Bucky then scooped him up into his arms without so much as a warning; there was no time for Steve to argue, and he was too numb, too tired to protest. He just groaned and went back to holding onto Bucky like he was the only thing he had left. Which he was. They got a few odd stares, but Bucky just adjusted his grip on his friend and kept on until they were out of the cemetery. Steve didn’t notice anything except the sound of Bucky’s shoes hitting the pavement, the slight jostling of his body, and the way his hands looked balled up in the fabric of Bucky’s suit jacket.

 

Their walk was quick, punctuated by an occasional whimper out of Steve, a soothing whisper of encouragement from Bucky as a response. Bucky had enough decency to place Steve back on his own two feet when they rounded the corner leading to Steve’s now empty tenement. Steve let out a heavy sigh as he straightened out his jacket and checked for tear stains by pretending to move his hair out of his eyes. He walked up the steps, a few paces ahead of Bucky so he didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t have to feel the shame creep into a blush over his cheeks when Bucky looked at him like he  _ cared.  _

 

“So how was it?” Bucky asked gently. Steve could feel his eyes on him.

 

“It was okay, she’s next to dad,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice from betraying him.

 

There was a beat of silence before, “I was gonna ask -”

 

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck,” Steve cut him off, still refusing to face him. He doesn’t think he can keep it together. He just wants to get inside to be alone, but  _ where the fuck is my key? _

 

Bucky made some snarky comment about putting couch cushions on the floor and shining his shoes, but Steve was only half listening. He finally had to turn around to face Bucky when he heard the latter kick over the brick hiding the spare, handing it over with an exasperated shake of the head.

 

“C’mon,” Bucky said, voice taking on the teasing lilt he used when trying to break down Steve’s stubborn walls.

 

But Steve, he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t put couch cushions on the floor like when they were kids, he couldn’t run through a busted fire hydrant under the hot summer sun like when they were kids. Because they aren’t kids anymore. When Steve looks at Bucky, he sees the sun, the moon, and all the stars wrapped up into this beautiful individual who, for whatever reason, never gave up on him. Even with his shitty lungs and crooked back and fucked up hearing, Bucky was there. And the thing was, he looked at Steve the same way. Right now, Steve was shaken into a million little pieces, and if he let Bucky come in, he would never be truly whole ever again. Bucky would seep into his empty places and fill them with sunshine and warmth, put him back together with such diligent care. And it could never last. In his vulnerable state, Steve knew would allow his lonely heart to make the end all decision. So he resolved to pull away from Bucky all together.

 

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve said, steeling his voice like he does before a fight. His eyes were sharp when he looked up. “But I can get by on my own.”

 

“The thing is,” Bucky began, shaking his head as he leaned forward, gripping Steve’s little shoulder in his big hand. “You don’t  _ have  _ to.”

 

 _Please don’t._ Steve felt his whole body collapse under the weight of wanting what Bucky was offering, but denying himself. His shoulders sank. He couldn’t keep the sharp look in his eyes when he looked up again. Instead they were gentle and sorrowful, betraying him.

 

“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

 

Steve pulled his lips up in a shadow of a smile, pulling on the last vestiges of strength he had to convince his friend that he would make it, he would be  _ okay. _ But by the way Bucky searched his eyes, they both knew that it was all a front. Bucky just grimaced and took his hand from Steve’s shoulder. Steve turned his back once more to fit the key into the lock, jostling it around to get it unstuck.

 

“Ya need any help, with, y’know, your ma’s things?”

 

Steve heard the hesitancy in his friends voice as his throat tightened and tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. He hadn’t even spared a thought to what he was going to do with Sarah’s things. He shut the door the morning the doctor’s said would be her last and hadn’t looked at it since.

 

“S’okay,” Steve heard his voice waver, he heard Bucky kick his shoe against the brick. “M’not gonna look at it, right now.”

 

He took a deep breath as he finally forced the door open, to mask the sound of him falling apart. Steve knew Bucky was hot on his heels, trying to follow him inside, so he placed himself in the doorway, using himself as a barrier. He hoped Bucky would take the hint and just let Steve be alone. Bucky’s eyes widened as he read Steve’s body language.

 

“Steve -”

 

But Steve just cut him off with another weak smile and a “thank you, bucky” before shutting the door on him. Steve’s knees collapsed beneath him as his back hit the door, a sob escaping his chest. He covered his mouth as he sobbed harder - he knew Bucky was still on the other side of the door - as he crumbled to the floor. His vision blurred, he felt hot tears hitting his hands, and he couldn’t stop. He’d held it in, but now there was no one to witness tough, little Stevie Rogers fall completely and utterly apart. He cried until he couldn’t anymore, working himself into an asthma attack while he continued to hiccup over sobs. Steve fell asleep in front of the door, curled up on his side, shivering with his fist pressed tightly to his lips.

 

That was back in October. It was the height of Brooklyn winter now, January winds tearing at Steve’s lungs and racking his frail body with chills. He was barely managing to hold onto him and his ma’s place, taking up odd jobs when his body allowed it. But it had gotten brutally and unforgivingly cold, cursing Steve to lie under thin blankets, gifting him ample time to lament his body’s betrayal. Bucky was with him whenever he could be, placing cool compresses on Steve’s head to tamp the fever, bringing him broth to sip on when his stomach was agreeable. Of course Steve protested and was surly as all hell, he didn’t want to be  _ looked after. _ He would jump between moods, one moment shouting string after string of curses at Bucky, to rolling over and sobbing the next moment. Being vulnerable, even in front of Bucky, his best friend, made Steve’s insides twist up with distaste. He was angry. At his shit body for always giving up on him, at Bucky for coddling him, at the world for leaving him alone like this. 

 

He still hadn’t touched his ma’s room. He catches Bucky glancing over at it sometimes, when he thinks Steve isn’t looking, and it makes his heart twist up in his chest. Steve wants to seal up that room forever, with himself inside. He’s worried that Bucky won’t keep his big trap shut and do something dumb like  _ ask him _ what he wants to do about it. Bucky will let his eyes go big and gentle as he broaches the subject, quietly like he’s trying not to spook a wounded animal. Steve could hear it now.  _ Steve, pal, are you alright?  _ No, he’s not. But it’s not like he would tell Bucky that, or anyone for that matter. No one can know, he doesn’t want sympathy or pity. He wants to be left alone to wallow in his mind, in his heart. But Bucky never asked and Steve never said anything.

 

Bucky did ask him, however, to come over to his house whenever he was well, jauntily tilting his head with a smirk saying,  _ Ya need a warm meal, Steve, put a little fat on your bones.  _ Steve always pushed back, defiantly refusing any perceived sympathy, but Bucky never let him have it. He would just fondly shake his head, throw his coat around Steve’s shoulders and badger him until he had no choice but to cave just to get Bucky to shut up. He also may have liked the way Bucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, truly pleased. He could blame his blush on the cold. Steve didn’t go often, playing up his sickness with a promise to Bucky that he’ll come next time.

 

Bucky had picked up a new job, doing god knows what, god knows where. He wouldn’t tell Steve. Naturally, Bucky wanted to give his paycheck to Steve, something the blonde would not stand for, a righteous anger flaring in his cheeks as he preached Bucky to hell and back about being able to care for himself. Bucky would push back just as hard, saying he wasn’t taking care of him because he  _ pitied  _ Steve, but because -  _ I love you, you dumb, stupid punk - _ it was just what they had always done. But Steve was moe grumpy than not these days and snapped at Bucky to get out before rolling over on his side, back facing away from him. Bucky left the apartment without another word. If Steve wouldn’t just accept the money, Bucky would have to find creative ways to make him take it. 

 

So Bucky knocked on the door to Steve’s place, groceries in his arms, but Steve didn’t answer the door. And Bucky knew he was there, he could hear the boy’s rattling cough from outside. He kicked over the brick hiding the key to the tenement and let himself in. The door to Steve’s room had been closed, a clear message, warning him to keep out. Bucky just set about putting the groceries away, he knew it was best to leave Steve be when he got like this, snappy and angry at the world. It was Bucky’s intent to put the food away and leave. But the hacking in Steve’s room grew louder and incessant. Bucky furrowed his brow as he moved to listen more closely. His coughing was constant, Bucky could hear Steve struggling to breathe, and Bucky couldn’t stand to just sit behind the wrong side of the door any longer.

 

Bucky opened the door and saw Steve doubled over on his side, clutching at his chest while his shoulders shook with each racking cough.

 

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky exhaled, crossing the room. He saw Steve curl in on himself, back to the door, as Bucky marched his way over to him, hurting Bucky right to the core. 

 

“Get the  _ fuck - _ ” Steve began, but was interrupted by another series of coughs. “ - out of my house, Barnes.”

 

And that, well. That was just about enough for Bucky. His eyes took on a cold glint as he snatched the blankets from around Steve’s shaking body and cradled them to his chest. He didn’t feel right, chilling his friend like that, but Steve was being a shit and Bucky had enough of coddling him. Steve rolled over, eyes shining murderously. He flailed helplessly, trying to retrieve his warmth, but Bucky was out of his reach and he was far too tired, too weak. 

 

“Gimme the fucking blanket, Bucky,” Steve growled, trying his best to put up a front, even though he knew Bucky could see right through it. 

 

“I’ve had enough of your shit, Rogers,” Bucky quipped back, folding up the blanket just to watch Steve’s eyes flash with indignance. “Get your ass out of that bed and let me fucking take  _ care of you _ , you stubborn punk.”

 

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, you fucking -”

 

“I don’t feel  _ sorry for you _ , idiot. I’m sick of watchin’ you try to kill yourself,” Bucky huffed, feeling his face warm with quiet frustration.

 

Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed, fixing Bucky with a glare that was absolutely murderous. He began coughing again, and the anger within Bucky was momentarily replaced with concern. He moved towards Steve, but Steve stamped his foot through another series of coughs, aggravation seeping from his pores. 

 

“If I wanna die, it ain’t none of your fucking concern,” he heaved, blue eyes flashing.

 

“Don’t fucking start with me -” Bucky started, but startled into silence when Steve stood up and stalked towards him.

 

“What’s it to you?” he yelled, closing in on Bucky’s space. “I’ve got nothin’, s’all gone!” Steve shoved at Bucky’s chest, with shockingly enough force to knock Bucky back a step. “My ma’s gone, my health’s gone,” Steve was crying now as he pushed at Bucky again. “They’re gonna take her stuff, gonna take the place, I ain’t gonna have nothin’ left.”

 

Bucky tried to grab Steve’s arms, to calm him, but it only made him angrier, causing him to fight back harder. 

 

“Fuckin’ let go’a me, Bucky,” Steve shouted, slapping his hands against Bucky’s chest, hitting and pushing in an attempt to drive him away. But it only made Bucky increase his endeavors, easily overpowering Steve and pulling him into his arms. Steve struggled and screamed all sorts of profanity at Bucky, but Bucky only tightened his grip. 

 

“Fuckin’ let go,” Steve sobbed, the fight leaving him nearly as soon as it began, as he sank into Bucky’s embrace. “Let me go, let me go, let me -”

 

“Ain’t gonna let you go nowhere,” Bucky gruffed, shifting his grip to wrap the blanket around Steve’s trembling frame and tucking his head underneath his chin.  _ You’re mine. _

 

Steve coughed wetly around his tears, sniffling into Bucky’s chest. “Ain’t got nothin’ left, Buck,” he whimpered as he pressed himself closer. “Wanna die, wanna - wanna -”

 

Bucky hushed Steve firmly, pressing his cheek to the top of Steve’s downy head. “Listen here, I already told ya, you ain’t allowed to go nowhere. Not without me.” 

 

Steve choked on another cry and felt his knees go out beneath him, only saved from crumbling to the floor by Bucky’s grasp around him. Bucky scooped Steve up beneath his knees, cradling his weak form against him as he moved them both to sit on Steve’s bed. Bucky let Steve cry into him until there was nothing left but small, distressed sighs, and the occasional sniffle. 

 

“I don’t ever wanna hear nothin’ like that outta you again,” Bucky said, softly. Steve quietly moaned at the verity in his voice, forcing his face into Bucky’s neck. “You always got me,  _ always _ , ya hear? Don’t you ever go where I can’t follow, I’ll lose my heart, Stevie.”

 

Steve squirmed in Bucky’s lap, chest hitching as the threat of another sob began to bubble up.

 

“Don’t need me,” Steve quietly lamented as more tears fell. “Useless body, gonna die, wanna - you don’t, d-dont need -”

 

Bucky pulled Steve away from him so quickly that Steve was startled out of the end of his sentence, out of his tears, as he looked up at Bucky with wide eyes. The gaze Bucky was fixing him with made Steve want to hide, it was so full of  _ affection _ , dare he say…

 

“That’s enough, Steve,” Bucky said, trying for firmness, but his voice cracked with tears, with the idea of Steve’s body turned cold, with placing his beautiful boy in the ground. “That’s  _ enough, _ for christssakes, don’t you fucking get it? I ain’t never gonna stop needin’ you.” He shook Steve, just slightly, because he couldn't help himself, couldn’t stand the thought of himself without Steve. That fear iced over his insides as he looked into Steve’s eyes like he’d never look into them again, his gaze so intense that tears surfaced in Steve’s eyes again. He couldn’t stop the fear as it forced its way into his mouth, placing words on his tongue that he’d never thought he’d make himself say out loud. “I love you, Steve,  _ god _ you just don’t know how much -”

 

Steve’s cold, chapped lips were on his, capturing his words with his mouth. Bucky hardly even startled. He just wrapped his arms around him, positioning Steve across his lap with his legs on either side, and kissed him back with gentle intent. It felt like coming up from drowning, having Steve’s lips finally on his.

 

“Steve,” Bucky breathed against his mouth. “Steve, Stevie - wait, your lungs, Stevie wait -”

 

Steve leaned back with a hard, reproachful glare in his eyes. “Damn my lungs to hell,” he growled, surging forward, crashing his lips to Bucky’s, pushing him onto his back. Steve rocked his hips, eliciting a little moan from him as he breathed out, “Don’t stop, don’t you dare - never stop, never - oh!”

 

Bucky snarled, surging up to flip them, putting Steve on his back beneath him, possessively holding his body over Steve’s.

 

“Don’t care about your lungs, huh?” Bucky husked above him. Steve lurched up, trying to steal Bucky’s lips back, but Bucky leaned away, mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. He hovered over Steve, eyes roaming hungrily over his body before settling on the slim line of Steve’s throat. “ ‘Damn your lungs to hell’?”

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, little chest rattling as he stared up at Bucky with wide, worshipful eyes.

 

Bucky’s hand moved from where it was braced beside Steve’s head and brought it down to trace along his collarbones, nails gently biting the skin there, before Bucky slid his hand around the hollow of Steve’s neck. He smiled again at the hitch in Steve’s breath.

 

“I’ll damn your lungs to hell alright, you stubborn little punk,” said Bucky, deep and low in Steve’s ear, squeezing his hand tighter, reveling in the way Steve went completely pliant. 

 

Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, pretty lashes fanning across his cheekbones as he focused on his breathing. Bucky listened to the wheeze in Steve’s lungs slowly settle, taking turns between squeezing and releasing, forcing Steve to control himself. Bucky kissed his lips, his nose, his cheeks and eyelashes, all the while keeping a steady pressure on Steve’s throat, crooning softly in his good ear  _ shhh, there’s a good baby _ and  _ keep breathing for me _ and  _ hush now, honey, don’t work yourself up.  _ And Steve whined under Bucky’s gentle ministrations, squirming and trying to break his grasp, but Bucky held firm until Steve was limp beneath him again. 

 

Bucky sighed deeply before pressing his mouth to Steve’s, sweet and chaste. He just wanted to  _ feel,  _ he couldn’t help himself.

 

“God, Stevie, you’re so damn pretty.” He just couldn’t help himself.

 

Steve cracked his eyes open to glare at Bucky. “Ain’t a dame, don't fuckin’ start with me,” he groused, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s wrist trying to remove it.

 

Bucky growled, tightening his grip and using it as leverage to pull Steve up and onto his knees; with an arm around his waist, Bucky maneuvered him back onto his lap. Bucky held onto Steve by his throat so tightly that there were bound to be fingerprint shaped bruises the next day - the boy bruised like a summer peach. He nudged his nose against Steve’s, chuckling when the blonde put up a fight. He only squeezed harder, pushing a gasp from Steve as his air supply was cut off.

 

“Don’t have to be a dame to be pretty,” Bucky said quietly, his lips barely touching Steve’s. “Wish you could see your lips, sinful s’what they are, blushin’ red like wine.”

 

“Buck,” Steve choked. He loosened his grip, but not by much. Bucky wanted to watch the color run back into Steve’s cheeks. 

 

“I take care a’ya, and if I say you’re pretty, then that’s what ya are,” Bucky continued, biting Steve’s bottom lip and catching Steve’s whine in his mouth. “I say you’re pretty, baby.” Bucky was being testy, he knew it, by the way Steve rumbled his displeasure low in his chest, but he  _ just  _ couldn’t help himself. Not when he had what he’s always wanted right here in his lap. “The picture you make,  _ jesus,  _ y’would make me such a pretty wife.”

 

Bucky’s head snapped to the side, cheek stinging under the handprint Steve left. Steve had  _ hit  _ him? Bucky could hardly believe it, but damn, if that wasn’t hot. He fixed Steve with a sultry, half lidded gaze as he turned his head back to face Steve fully, lips curling up into a smirk. His grip around Steve’s neck had gone slack in his surprise.

 

“I ain’t a dame, get it into your thick skull,” Steve growled, eyes glinting.

 

Bucky licked his lips. “Alright, baby, I know you ain’t a dame.” He reached down between them, cupping Steve’s cock through his underwear, giving him a gentle squeeze to feel Steve pulse in his hand. “Can tell by the way this thing is pokin’ me.”

 

“If you’re thinkin’ about gettin’ fresh with me -” Steve began, tapering off into a sigh, knowing his threat was empty, betraying his emotions by rocking himself into Bucky’s touch.

 

“Ain’t thinkin’ anymore, baby,” smiled Bucky as he leaned up to taste Steve’s lips. Steve huffed, but returned the kiss with fervor, as though he was placing his own claim on Bucky.

 

Bucky’s hand traveled from the base of Steve’s throat to wrap itself in the fine hairs at the base of Steve’s neck, acting as an anchor, keeping them together. The two of them kissed the way they fought, neither wanting to be the one to give up first. Steve was gasping sporadically as he clawed at Bucky’s shoulders like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull him close or push him away. He couldn’t stop moving against Bucky’s lap while he pushed his lips to Bucky’s with virginal clumsiness. Bucky just laughed into Steve’s mouth, warmed by his eagerness. He gripped Steve’s little waist in his hands, pulling them chest to chest, pushing his hips up against Steve. 

 

“C’mon, baby,” Bucky encouraged, panting against Steve’s neck, biting gently.

 

“Oh,  _ oh, Bucky, _ ” whimpered Steve, grinding his hips down with more intent. 

 

It was going well, going  _ so well. _ Bucky couldn’t believe the treasure he had in his lap. He was lost in the feeling of Steve wriggling back on his cock, head thrown back. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, it was better than he could’ve ever imagined. Steve dug blunt fingernails into the meat of Bucky’s shoulders, tanned and strong beneath his shirt, as Bucky gripped the nape of his neck, all the while, biting fiercely at his lips to admire the budding cherry color. They were lost in each other, so lost. Between Steve’s gasps, pretty whines, and Bucky’s claiming kisses, they missed it. Missed the angry footsteps climbing the stairs. Missed the front door open. Missed the tell-tale squeak of the floorboards outside the door of Steve’s room. They were lost in each other and it was going  _ so well _ , like they were always meant to fit together this way. They forgot that the world didn’t think they should.

 

It all happened so fast, Bucky hardly had time to blink before George Barnes, face flushed with his dark Irish fury, materialized in the doorway. He had nearly torn the door off its hinges; the knob itself cracked into the wall, forming a hole in its wake. Bucky’s eyes flew wide with horror, cold flooding his stomach. He couldn't break his gaze from the unbridled rage dancing in his father’s eyes.

 

“James Buchanan,” George Barnes growled.

 

Steve scrambled from Bucky’s grasp, bringing his hand to his lips as his stomach rolled, trying to hide what they had done. Bucky shifted Steve behind him, protecting him as always, avoiding Steve’s wide, fear filled eyes as he stood to face his father.

 

George stalked towards Bucky, heavy footfalls sounding against the creaking floor falling heavy on their ears. Bucky began backing up, finding his footing to be faulty. Faintly, he heard heels rushing up the steps, calling for him, then his father, then him again, voice high in a panic. Winifred Barnes hurried into the room, eyes blowing wide at the unfolding scene. She noticed the bruises forming on Steve’s neck, the flush of Bucky’s lips, and put two and two together.

 

“George -” she gasped.

 

Bucky’s father hardly even acknowledged her presence. He occupied himself with undoing his belt; the room was horribly loud in the silence, tension flooding the open space.

 

“Go home, Winifred,” was all George Barnes said. He wrapped the belt around his palm.

 

Winifred’s eyes glistened with tears, looking between her son and her husband. She sped towards George, curling her hands around his forearm.

 

“George, don’t do this,” she whispered pleadingly, tugging on his arm. “Please, don’t do this, he’s  _ our son _ .”

 

George didn’t even look up from his hand as he gruffed, “Winifred, I told ya to go home and I ain’t gonna tell ya twice.”

 

“Ma, please -” Bucky began.

 

“Quiet, boy!” his father shouted, striking Bucky across the face with a closed fist, causing Winifred to cry out in distress.

 

“George, dont!” she shrieked, tugging him harder. “He’s our son, George! Please, he’s our  _ boy _ -”

 

“Enough, woman!” George bellowed. He flung his arm from her grip with enough force to send her flying back, knocking into Steve’s dresser. 

 

“Don’t fucking touch my mother,” Bucky threatened, slightly out of breath from the blow he took to his head, but voice firm nonetheless.

 

George rounded on him, lips curled into a snarl. “Have you lost your fucking mind, boy?”

 

“It ain’t like what you think you saw,” Bucky yelled. He glanced over his father’s shoulder to chance a look at Steve, who was trembling on the bed, eyes brimming with tears threatening to fall. And he meant for it to be fleeting, but nothing ever was fleeting when it came to Steve. George caught his eyes, caught his gaze, and followed it to the boy sitting mere feet away. The rage directed at Steve was palpable, it rolled off George Barnes in waves; Bucky suppressed the whimper trying to crawl up his throat at the notion of it being directed at Steve.

 

“You little fucking  _ faggot, _ ” he growled as he began to turn to face Steve, and Bucky  _ couldn’t,  _ just couldn’t imagine letting his father put his hands on Steve. Sweet little Stevie Rogers, who never ran away from a fight, who bruised like a peach. He couldn’t let his father touch him.

 

“Pa, don’t!” Bucky shouted, grabbing his father by the shoulder and forcing him to turn his rage back to Bucky. 

 

George Barnes didn’t say a word. He just grunted as he swung the belt around, catching Bucky in the face, splitting his lip. The hit knocked him to the ground, ears ringing. He could hear the muffled sounds of his mother sobbing  _ stop stop stop _ and when he looked up, he saw Steve through his swimming vision, who looked pale as a ghost as he uncharacteristically shied away from the looming figure that was George Barnes. His father kicked him in the ribs, hard, before turning back to Steve.

 

“I always knew there was somethin’  _ fucked up _ about you, tailin’ around after my boy the way you do. Shoulda seen it comin’, shoulda put a stop to it when I had a feelin’.”

 

Bucky let out a pained groan from where he was on the floor. Nevermind his busted face, his heart hurt worse than any of it, hearing his father berate Steve like that, like he was  _ nothing,  _ when he was  _ everything  _ to Bucky. 

 

“I oughta kill you for what you done to my boy,” George Barnes raged at Steve.

 

Bucky saw Steve put his fists up, just like Bucky had showed him, but it was fragile and loose; he wouldn’t land a punch like that, no way, no how. No one ever saw it, but Bucky always could. It was Steve’s eyes that gave it away. He was scared.

 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Steve whispered, a wheeze cutting up his words. Bucky knew that an asthma attack would closely follow. He had to stop this. “I-I’m didn’t mean -”

 

“Sick little fucker,” George sneered, creeping closer to Steve with every nasty statement. Bucky released a quiet sob as he tried to pull himself from the floor. “It’s no wonder your mother didn’t bother to stick around, like she could  _ love _ a sinner like you.”

 

The room went horribly silent, everyone looking at Steve, waiting for his reaction. At first, Steve brought his fists up higher, tightened up his stance, squared his jaw. George Barnes waited, lips pressed into a thin line as he turned his head slightly, like an offering, a challenge,  _ daring  _ him to just  _ try.  _ And for a brief moment, Bucky really thought that Steve would, the way his jaw clicked, the way his brow was furrowed. But then, he just opened his eyes real wide, all blue and sorrowful, the fight gone. The tears brimming in his eyes spilled over as he dropped his hands into his lap and hunched over, shoulders up to his ears while fat teardrops fell onto his open palms.

 

“My ma loved me,” his voice quiet, deep, and wavering,  as he curled in further on himself. “She loved me,” a pause, “And she loved James too.”

 

Bucky’s father bellowed and lunged forward, grabbing Steve by the front of his shirt and shook him and Bucky could feel it throb behind his eyes. How tiny Steve looked struggling in his father’s grip when, just moments before, Steve was in his own grip, still tiny, but pretty and safe and unafraid. Steve was crying in earnest now, whimpering as he tried to fight, but he was so  _ small. _ Winifred had begun yelling as she tried to pull George from Steve. The two of them weren’t enough to stop the mountain of a man. Bucky forced himself to his feet, bleeding through his shirt, hardly seeing out of his swollen left eye, tasting copper on his tongue. But he had to do it, it was for Steve - everything was always for Steve. With one quick step, Bucky crossed the room, grabbed the glass of water from Steve’s lopsided nightstand, and brought it down on the back of his father’s head, thus stopping his assault on Steve. Little glass shards were stuck in Bucky’s palm, yet another part of his body stained red. He watched blood pool beneath his father’s dark hair before it began to drip down his neck. His father turned to face him with an incredulous expression.

 

“You  _ can’t - _ ” Bucky started, words getting caught in his throat as he looked at Steve, who was curled up against his Winifred’s side while she held him close, her arms wrapped around him - almost like she was shielding him - as she cast anxious glances between Bucky and George. His stomach hurt with how  _ small _ Steve looked, how hurt he was. This was Bucky’s fault. 

 

“You can’t hurt him,” Bucky said, desperation coloring his tone. “He - he’s good, pa, he didn’t do nothin’, it was me.”

 

“So he made you into a fucking fairy too,” George Barnes rumbled. Bucky gasped wetly as he shook his head. There was no way to make his father understand. Steve was hurt and it was  _ Bucky’s _ fault; he deserved whatever was coming to him.

 

One minute he was looking into his father’s steel gray eyes, and the next he was looking at the ceiling, his father’s calloused, thick hands grabbing him around his throat, crushing his windpipe. He growled and snarled over Bucky like a beast, spittle dripping from his mouth. Dazedly, Bucky saw Steve scramble from the bed and out of the room, saw his mother fling her own arms around George’s shoulders. It looked like she was saying something, maybe crying too. Bucky couldn’t tell. His vision was going white around the edges a little bit and everything was slowed down to half its normal speed.  _ I’m dying _ , Bucky thought. The thought made him smile, as well as he could whilst being choked, reveling in the sting of his split lip. He felt a bruising pain on the side of his face as he gasped for air, his father having relieved some of the pressure on his windpipe in favor of hitting him.  _ I’m dying. _ Bucky laughed, a rasp of a thing, before choking on his own blood. He couldn’t see his mother anymore, and  _ Steve, oh my god, where’s Steve?  _ Panic rose in the back of his throat at the thought of his father hunting down Steve next, killing him too. No, Bucky couldn’t let that happen. If dying here, underneath his father’s hands, for the boy he loved was what it took to keep him safe, then by god, he would go, and go willingly at that. Dying for Steve seemed right, just the way the two of them fit together seemed right. Bucky would protect him until the end.  _ I’m dying,  _ he thought. And it seemed right. 

 

Until suddenly, air flooded his lungs, his father’s weight removed from where he was being pinned to the floor. He lay motionless on the floor, his chest heaving as the oxygen cleared his vision. He faintly registered two men wrestling his father between them, forcing him out of the room, out of the apartment. Winifred hurried over to him, pulling as much of him as she could onto her lap, fretting over him. Bucky thought he felt tears drop onto his face, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was his own tears. She rocked him slowly, cradling him to her bosom, just like she did when he was little, and tenderly wiped the blood from his eyes and lips and cheeks with the hem of her dress. Bucky cracked his eyes open, just barely, in an attempt to lay his gaze on Steve. But he couldn’t see past his mother’s body and the wall that was in front of them.

 

A broken sob left his lips, before he whimpered, “Ma.”

 

Winifred shushed him, smoothing his hair back from his forehead as she continued to rock him. “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here.”

 

Bucky choked out another cry of distress.  _ I can’t see Steve, where’s my Stevie, I can’t see him. _ The panic swallowed Bucky whole.

 

“Ma -  _ mama, _ ” Winifred cried softly over that, Bucky hadn’t called her that since he was small. “Mama, where’s Steve?” he croaked.

 

Winifred shook her head, lips pursed, trying to keep her own sobs at bay. “Don’t you worry about him now,” she said and no, that’s not alright, that’s not what she was  _ supposed _ to say.

 

“Where is he?” Bucky tried again, cheeks wet, and this time he knew they were his own. “Where’s Steve?” Bucky began to struggle in his mother’s lap, voice rising higher as the panic set in. “Ma, where is he? Where is he? Where’s  _ my Stevie? _ ” Bucky was yelling, thrashing, borderline hysterical.

 

“James,” Winifred whined, grabbing onto him tighter, trying to calm him. “James,  _ Jamie, _ please, he’s  _ okay. _ It’s alright, he’s alright, shh shh.”

 

“He’s gonna  _ kill him,  _ ma,” Bucky wailed, hyperventilating. “S’not his fault, it’s not, it’s not, it’s  _ not _ \- can’t, can’t let him -”

 

Winifred turned suddenly to look over her shoulder, subconsciously clutching onto her son tighter. Bucky tried to lean up, but it hurt; he had to settle with lying in his mother’s arms. He can’t see and it makes him squeamish. He wanted Steve, just to lay eyes on him, to make sure that he was okay. His mother was speaking, he could feel her voice vibrate through her chest, but he didn’t know what she was saying. The afternoon sun streamed down onto his face, catching his eyes. The sun was still shining, even on the day that Bucky’s life was splintered forever. He watched the dust particles waltz through the air, it was lulling him to sleep. His vision started to white out, the dust glinting like glitter in the sun. Bucky wondered if he was still dying, if maybe he was close to the end now. It looked the way he imagined heaven to look when he got to daydreaming in sunday mass. He didn’t want to die without seeing Steve, he’d have to haunt the earth in sorrow.

 

“Bucky?” 

 

Sunlight shone on his right side too, he could see it out of his peripheral vision. There wasn’t a window over there, how could there be sunlight? Bucky turned his head to the right, facing the warmth. He felt the warmth settle on his cheek and he chased it, leaned into it. It felt so good, who said that dying was meant to be cold? 

 

“Bucky, please.”

 

There it was, calling out to him again. It sounded like Steve, and Bucky would laugh if he could because of course the angels in heaven sound like Steve to him. Wasn’t that a kicker. Bucky always had a feeling that Steve was one of god’s angels, never questioned how he came down, how he came to find him, let alone  _ love _ him. He never questioned it. And now he knew he was right because even the angels in heaven sounded like Steve.

 

Bucky opened his eyes again as he continued to follow the warmth and -  _ was it really? -  _ he was face to face with an  _ angel _ . An angel with wispy, blonde hair and pink, pouty lips was looking right at him, touching him. He was so warm now. 

 

“Look, Jamie, there’s Steve, he’s right here.”

 

That sounded like his mother, how could she be here too? Bucky turned his head to the right a little more, and there was the angel again, looking down at him with all of god’s love and tenderness in those beautiful blue eyes. The angel really did look like his Stevie, maybe his ma was trying to help him go quietly. Bucky would never say no to dying if it was for Steve.

 

“Hey, Buck,” the angel whispered, radiating sunlight. Bucky was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

 

“ ‘m I dead?” he croaked. The angel gave him a wobbling smile,  _ so pretty _ . Bucky wanted to see it again. 

 

The angel laughed, but it sounded sorrowful, distraught. There were tears on his cheeks and Bucky wanted to wipe them away; he tried lifting his hand, but noticed it was covered in blood and  _ no I can’t touch an angel like this.  _

 

“No you’re not dead,” the angel told him. He moved to grasp onto Bucky’s hand, the bloodied one, and despite Bucky flinching and trying to pull away, the angel held on tighter. “You ain’t allowed to go anywhere without me, remember? You’re my Bucky.”

 

And  _ that,  _ that was like a bucket of ice water being flushed through his veins. A broken sob ripped through his chest. Steve took Bucky’s hand and held it to his face, and Bucky wanted to be sick because of it. His blood staining the angel forever, crimson on his cheek and neck because of him and Bucky didn’t  _ want _ that. He whimpered, flexing his fingers against the angel’s cheek, hoping that he would understand that Bucky’s blood wasn’t  _ meant _ to be on him, that he should let go. But the angel shook his head, stubborn as ever, and just clutched onto his hand tighter.

 

“Ran to get the landlord,” Steve said quietly. “The neighbors were fussin’, wanted him to call the police, but I - he would tell them why, and i just, I  _ couldn’t,  _ Bucky -”

 

Bucky pressed his palm into Steve’s face, a gentle reminder that he was alive, still with him. He shushed him sweetly as he said, “S’alright, Steve, s’okay, I know.”

 

His mother cleared her throat, shifting her hold on Bucky so that Steve had to let go of his hand, having to settle for just being near Bucky instead. It was foolish to think Bucky’s ma would be accepting of them, being the devout Catholic woman she was. Steve was grateful enough for the fact that she didn’t want her son to hurt, nevermind that she looked out for him too, ever since his own ma passed. They knew that she would never hate them, never condemn them, but she would never be able to accept their kind of love. And that was enough.

 

“Come now, Steven,” Winifred said as she resumed smoothing Bucky’s hair. “Help me get him up onto the bed.”

 

Steve did as he was asked, tiny as he was, shuffling around on the floor to fit one of Bucky’s arms over his shoulder while Winifred did the same, wrapping her arm around his back to steady him. Bucky tried to carry as much of his own weight as he could - it wasn’t a long walk to the bed - but it really did fucking hurt to move. He tried not to groan, tried to hide the discomfort, but what was the point, really? His ma and Steve had been through the worst with him, not like he had much dignity left to hold onto anyway.

 

They sat him down on the bed first, then helped him lie back. Steve fluffed his pillows as best as he could, guiding Bucky’s head so that he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck from laying funny. Winifred tucked Steve’s thin blanket over his body, running her hands down the wrinkles over and over, like she did when she was worried. Steve backed away from the bedside with his eyes downcast, leaving more room for Bucky’s mother to fuss over him, like he didn’t want to be in the way. Bucky looked over at him and whimpered, short and high in his throat. Winifred stopped her ministrations, shooting Steve a quick look over her shoulder, expression unreadable. She looked down at Bucky then, and sighed deeply. She went to move her hands across the sheets again, but stopped herself, instead lightly placing her fingertips on the edge of the bed.

 

“Well, I - I’ll go fetch some supplies,” Winifred said, her voice clipped. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, lingering like she didn’t want to go. Then she stood up straight and whisked out the door, shutting it behind her, without sparing another glance at either of them.

 

And just like that, it was just the two of them, alone in the room with an eerie silence filling the space between them. Bucky could almost believe that it had always been just the two of them in here, the way the calm settled. Steve had his hands curled into the hem of his shirt, his shoulders bunched up by his ears again. The afternoon light backlit Steve in pure gold, Bucky was enraptured. His hair glowed like a halo, his skin awash in light, masking his sickly pallor. Bucky called to Steve, and when he looked up, the blue of his eyes pierced him through the heart. Bucky reached out his hand, letting it hang limp over the side of the bed, silently asking - no,  _ begging _ \- for Steve to come closer. He needed, he  _ wanted. _ And Steve came to him, of course he had, lightly placing his fingers to Bucky’s, lacing their fingers together.

 

“Come lie with me, Stevie?” Bucky whispered.

 

He felt Steve’s hand spasm in his own, tightening his grip.

 

“I shouldn’t,” was Steve’s equally quiet response. “Got aches all over ya, can’t have me making it worse.”

 

Bucky shook his head minutely, tugging Steve closer to the side of the bed.

 

“Aches a lot more when you ain’t touchin’ me,” confessed Bucky, and it was the truth. Nothing had ever felt as magnificent as the moment when Steve put his lips to Bucky’s. He’d never be able to live without it now.

 

Steve looked down again, seeming to focus on their joined hands, and Bucky thought Steve’s stubbornness would win out. But Steve, as always, was unpredictable when he wanted to be, when anyone thought they had him completely figured out. Just another thing for Bucky to love.

 

Steve let go of his hand before scrabbling onto the bed, maneuvering his body over Bucky’s so he didn’t touch his aches and pains. Then, he scooted down to pull the covers over his own body, pillowing his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Steve released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he laid down. He moved his hand to rest against Bucky’s stomach, low and away from his bruised ribs, and smiled softly as he felt Bucky relax at his touch. The two of them laid next to each other in silence for a while, just focusing on breathing. Bucky glanced at Steve every now and then, heart full as he saw the tuft of downy hair on his shoulder. He supposed it had been worth it; even though he had to bleed for it, he’d do it again and again and again if it meant that he could have this. All he’d ever wanted was this, his Stevie with his head against his shoulder. 

 

Steve caught him looking down at him, and Bucky wanted to laugh at the satisfied smirk that pulled at Steve’s lips, even though he was trying to hide it. Instead, he just put his hand over Steve’s and traced patterns against the back of it with his fingertips.

 

“What’re you lookin’ at, Barnes?” Steve quipped through a sigh. He tried to make it sound easy, like their teasing usually was, but it came out more exhausted than anything else.

 

“Was lookin’ to see if he hurt you anywhere,” was Bucky’s equally pained reply. He closed his eyes; he didn’t want to see Steve’s expression this time. 

 

Steve didn’t answer right away, just continued to listen to Bucky’s breathing. He worried at his bottom lip, the way he did when he was nervous. Bucky didn’t ask again, didn’t push him, because he knew Steve and was either going to tell him, or he wasn’t, and it was as black and white as that. Bucky just settled back into the pillow and kept tracing patterns onto Steve’s skin until he was dozing.

 

He was halfway to sleep before Steve said in a tiny voice, “Nuh uh, only marks I got are the ones you gave me.” Bucky preened on the inside at that. “He just...shook me real hard. Made my head hurt, s’all.”

 

Steve heard Bucky growl low in the back of his throat, his hand wrapping tightly around Steve’s little wrist beneath the blanket. It made him blush pink right up to the tips of his ears at the possessiveness of it. 

 

“Couldn’t let him touch you,” Bucky murmured, his lips finding the top of Steve’s head. Steve shivered at Bucky’s tone, strong and sure, subconsciously moving his body to be closer to Bucky, allowing Bucky to grip him harder. 

 

“You’re mine. _Mine,_ ” Bucky whispered vehemently. “Mine, can’t nobody lay a finger on you but me, I’ll kill ‘em all, swear it, Stevie, I _swear -_ ”

 

Steve hushed him gently, shifting up to wipe the tears from Bucky’s cheeks that he hadn’t even realized were falling.  

 

“Was so scared, Stevie, thought he was gonna kill you,” Bucky cried, looking up at Steve through his wet lashes. His blood still smeared across Steve’s face, from his cheek to his neck and he choked at the sight. His chest felt tight as he reached up to touch the blood on Steve’s face with his clean hand, just fingertips glancing gently off the skin. Steve let out a little sigh at the gesture, something warm blooming in his stomach because of the way Bucky was looking at him. Like he was something worth keeping, something worth protecting. “Should get this off you,” Bucky murmured, still touching Steve’s face with an enamored expression on his face, following the paths his fingers make. “You’re too good to be wearin’ my blood like - like -”

 

“Like a claim?” Steve asked, tilting his head in a coy way.

 

He sees Bucky’s pupils dilate slightly, and he knows he’s hit it right on the mark, so he doesn’t stop. Steve drops his eyes, like suddenly he’s grown shy, because he knows what he looks like, like this, with his lashes fanned out over his cheeks, hair falling sweetly over his forehead. 

 

“Used to lie awake at night tellin’ myself not to want it, want  _ you _ . Sometimes you were right there in the bed with me.” Steve lifted his gaze and smiled down wetly at him, eyes so soft and full. “I ain’t never gonna be free of your claim, Buck, don’t think I ever was, really.”

 

“Shit, Steve,” Bucky breathed out reverently as he moved to hook his thumb around Steve’s ear, holding his neck in his palm. “Come back down here with me, huh? Need you touchin’ me.”

 

Steve leaned into his touch like he was starved for intimacy, mouth parting on an exhale. He simply nodded wordlessly and moved back down the bed to place his head upon Bucky’s shoulder once more. The two let the silence fall back over them, close as they could be without hurting Bucky. They heard the front door open and Bucky immediately moved to cover Steve when the latter flinched against him, but relaxed almost instantly when they remembered that it was just Bucky’s ma. Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple, then sat up with the intention to get out of the bed, despite Bucky holding onto his wrist while looking up at him like he might die without Steve right there to touch.

 

“S’okay,” was all Steve said with a sad smile, rubbing the hand not caught in Bucky’s vice grip over the back of his hand.

 

Steve got up then, and touched his lips to Bucky’s forehead to soothe him - _ and because he could - _ before he quietly slipped out of the room to see if Winifred needed his assistance. He left Bucky to lie in silence, mentally taking stock of where it hurt the most. He listened to the quiet shuffling of his mother and Steve in the kitchen. He watched the sun set across the back lot that was the view from Steve’s bedroom window. He picked at the little shards of glass still stuck in his palm idly and was glad that they hadn’t caught on Steve’s skin.

 

Steve came back before his ma did, carefully holding a pot of warm water with a small dish towel slung over his right shoulder. He kissed Bucky’s forehead once more -  _ because he could _ \- before dipping the towel into the water and slowly making work of wiping the blood from Bucky’s cuts. He was humming quietly under his breath, something that sounded like “you are my sunshine”. It helped calm Bucky, but he suspected that it was more of a comfort for Steve than it was for him.

 

The silence was heavy, cut by Bucky’s hisses in discomfort, even more so when Winifred came in as she took in the sight before her: Steve caring for her son. A strange tenderness washed over her as she looked at the two of them, their eyes locked firmly on each others, like if they looked away, even for a moment, the other would be snatched away. It was the way  _ lovers _ looked at each other. Even she had never looked at her own husband like that. It was a strange thing to witness, indeed, the way they were so engrossed with the other that they hadn’t even noticed Winifred come in - the very thing that got them caught in the first place. She supposed that it would be no use asking Bucky to come home, asking him about the girl from mass he took dancing last month. Nothing could be done when two people looked at each other  _ like that. _

 

She cleared her throat to announce her presence as she came into the room, giving Steve ample time to flinch away from Bucky and over to the other side of the room, the tenderness broken like a spell. It wasn’t like Winifred could blame him, especially after what had just happened, and she even appreciated the fact that Steve was respectful enough to allow her to fret over her son as any mother would. She wanted to tell him that he could be near James if he wanted, but she couldn’t find the words. It was all she could do to nod politely at him before taking her place at her son’s bedside. If she had to pretend that she didn’t notice the way they were still gazing at each other, well, she just wouldn’t say anything about it.

 

She unwrapped a reasonably sized piece of red meat and placed it on Bucky’s swollen eye as she lightly teased, “This was supposed to be our Sunday dinner, James.”

 

It was meant to be lighthearted, but no one cracked a smile. 

 

“Guess I’ll have to get another one, then,” Bucky replied humorlessly. He sounded tired; everyone was tired. The silence settled over the three of them like it was the fourth guest, the only noises being made were the sheets rustling and the sound of cloth on skin. 

 

When it came time to wrap Bucky’s ribs, Winifred called, “Steven, come here and help me with this dressing. I can’t sit him up myself.” It was partly true, she probably couldn’t prob him up by herself and she could sense his tension, his reluctance to touch Bucky with her in the room. But she wanted to see up close the way they looked at each other, the way they loved each other. She wondered if it could help her understand, help her accept what it was that they had. When Steve still hadn’t made a move to come closer, Winifred cast a quick glance over her shoulder and jerked her head in a beckoning motion. He still looked nervous and hesitant, but came nonetheless.

 

“Good,” Winifred said. “Now here, lift up your head, Jamie, good boy. Steven, prop those pillows behind him, would you?”

 

She instructed Steve with a sureness that he’d only ever seen in his own mother when she was tasked with caring for him. Her hands didn’t waver, her eyes didn’t show fear. She possessed a kind of strength that could only be claimed by a determined mother. Steve ignored he pang in his heart as he cast furtive glances at the two of them; his ma was gone. This was a cruel reminder of that. 

 

After they had managed to get Bucky sitting up in a semi-comfortable position, Winifred went back to fussing with the sheets the way she did when she was nervous. Steve was about to back away again, taking it as a signal that his help wasn’t needed anymore, when Winifred said without a waver in her voice, “Steven, I need you to remove James’ shirt while I get the wrappings ready.”

 

Winifred didn’t look at Steve or Bucky when she spoke, afraid that it would make her retract her words and do it herself. But she had to see it with her own eyes, the way they loved. She watched out of the corner of her eyes, pretending to busy herself with the wrappings. She saw the way Bucky looked up at Steve, the way Steve smiled softly down at Bucky. She saw the way Steve gently slid his nimble fingers beneath the bloody hem of Bucky’s shirt, brushing his fingertips against Bucky’s skin in a comforting gesture, maneuvering the shirt over and off Bucky’s head with such a  _ tenderness _ that Winifred had to look away. Steve even set about wiping the dried blood from Bucky’s torso, without any prompting from Winifred. No, she’d never seen anything like this before. Their interaction was filled with so much innocence and sweet affection that she wondered how anything like this could be deemed as unacceptable, as  _ sinful. _ It most definitely didn’t deserve the harm placed upon both of them. Winifred caught a glance of Steve brushing Bucky’s hair from his forehead before he stepped away, leaving room for his mother to attend to him. She thanked him, nothing in her voice betraying what she had seen. 

 

When all was said and done, Bucky’s ribs wrapped and settled back down into the bed, Winifred perched on the bed, and for the first time, she dropped her strong facade and looked horribly exhausted by the whole affair. She looked like she was struggling internally on what to say.

 

“James,” she finally began. “You know how... _ badly _ your father has taken this -” she looked between the two of them, not knowing how to describe what exactly  _ this  _ was, before continuing. “I don’t think it would be safe for you to come home tonight -”

 

“Or ever,” Bucky finished, his tone bitter and hard, fixing his eyes on the wall instead of his mother. 

 

Winifred wanted to reprimand him, to tell him that he shouldn’t say that, that he’s their son  _ of course you can come home.  _ But she couldn’t. He was probably right, any chance of him coming home was near impossible. George Barnes was a pious man with a hate for disobedience and a firm faith in his beliefs; there would be no changing his mind about what he really thought of Steve and Bucky’s lifestyle. Coming home would be tempting death himself. And Winifred knew the truth of that. All she could do was drop her shoulders with a sigh.

 

She got off the bed with a weary expression. Pressing a parting kiss to her son’s forehead and a whisper of “I love you, Jamie”, Winifred gathered her supplies and looked to Steve to walk her to the door, to which he graciously complied, like he was escorting his guest out after a lovely dinner encounter. A much nicer thought.

 

Steve opened the door to see her out, expecting her to walk out without a backward glance. But Winifred stopped and turned to face him in the doorway with a solemn expression, and at first Steve was scared that she was going to lay into him for his inappropriate behavior, or maybe tell him this was all his fault. 

 

Winifred looked him right in the eyes with a fierceness that Steve could only help but admire when she said lowly, so Bucky couldn’t hear, “I know that you have a good, kind heart, Steven. You got that from your mother.” She paused to gauge his reaction, which was restfully blank.

 

“I saw the way you looked at him, the way you cared for him with such…” she couldn’t say it, “...something I’ve never seen before.” Steve’s eyes widened a fraction. 

 

Winifred dropped her eyes and fiddled with her hands as she groped for the words she wanted to say, a habit Bucky had picked up when he was feeling anxious too. Steve waited patiently, but the silence carried on, and as soon as Steve opened his mouth to speak, Winifred looked back up and said, “You take care of him, Steven. Make sure he gets to mass on Sunday.” And then she turned around without giving Steve a chance to reply, walking down the steps, around the corner and out of sight.

 

Steve watched her disappear into the dark before he shut the door, careful to lock it this time. He returned back to Bucky - who was resting with his eyes closed - and shut the blinds to keep away from prying eyes. The neighbors enjoyed a good commotion; it comes with even better gossip. Turning to face Bucky, Steve chewed nervously at his bottom lip, debating on whether or not he should crawl into bed and risk waking him, or if he should take the couch. It would hurt his back in the morning, but -

 

“Can hear you thinkin’ over there, punk,” Bucky rumbled, eyes still closed. “C’mere, s’late.”

 

Steve felt his eyelids drop at the mention of the time of night, evening really, but fuck if he didn’t need a rest. He shuffled over to the bed and positioned himself to Bucky’s right side, putting his head back on his shoulder and tangling their legs together. Bucky hummed in contentment, nuzzling into Steve’s hair. Steve brought his hand up to rest his hand at the hollow of Bucky’s neck, placing a finger over his pulse, just to feel the life in him.

 

“What’d my ma say to you?” asked Bucky, sighing deeply at the touch. Steve just shrugged. 

 

“She told me to get your lazy ass to mass on Sunday,” he said teasingly.

 

Bucky chuckled lightly, eyes still closed. He was nearing sleep and Steve was close behind him.

 

“Tch, ya always were a good, little catholic boy,” Bucky slurred back, equally as teasing. 

 

Steve hummed an agreeable noise before burrowing deeper into Bucky’s side, trying to find a comfortable position. Bucky’s arm wrapped around his little waist, hand coming to rest at his hip bone. The two of them drifted off together, holding each other like they were the only thing they had left in the world, an unfortunate truth. Before Steve fully succumbed to his exhaustion, he mumbled against Bucky’s neck, “I love you.”

 

Bucky was well asleep. But Steve felt his hand tighten on his hip, and he knew that Bucky loved him right back.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry, i'm a sadist and project my own traumas onto the boys. i'm considering making this a series to further develop their characters in this verse (and i shamelessly wanna add sexy times) so if school doesn't kick my ass first, that might be a thing in the future.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @glitterprincee, share your ideas and your filth xoxo


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